


Ash and Smoke and the Sweat-Slick Salt of Skin

by Lywinis



Series: One Shots -- Capsicoul [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Capsicoul - Freeform, Dog Tags, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battles are hard won, and sometimes after all you want to do is fall into someone else's space and never come out. This is one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ash and Smoke and the Sweat-Slick Salt of Skin

“ _Fuck_ ,” Phil hissed, the door to Steve’s bedroom in the Tower slamming shut with the impatient kick of a booted heel. “ ** _Steve_**.”

Steve didn’t answer, just pressed himself against Phil, smelling of smoke and gunpowder and death. Phil knew he was singed around the edges, covered in dust and grit from the fight, but he could care less as strong hands lifted him and pressed him against the wall, smearing ash on the matte white of the paint as his legs circled Steve’s waist, ankles hooking behind his soldier’s thighs. Steve pressed his nose into Phil’s neck, mouthing kisses that turned urgent as he sucked them into sharp welts with the press of white teeth.

Phil groaned, his hips twitching. He was far too dressed, and so was Steve, but right now everything was friction and hot and heavy hands.

“I want you,” Steve growled, and Phil felt the electric shudder slide down his spine. “Need you.”

“I know,” Phil said. He rolled his hips down, against Steve, and he heard the gasp. “Too many clothes.”

Steve let him down, and Phil’s hands buried themselves in Steve’s hair, tugging him down for a bruising kiss that left his mouth tingling even as gloved fingers went for his tie. Steve cursed against Phil’s lips as the gloves impeded the fine dexterity of his fingers, and he broke away to pull one off with his teeth, biting into the leather.

Phil helped with the other one, then pulled open the Velcro keeping the front of Steve’s uniform closed. The zipper slid through his fingers twice before he could get it down, and he swore, frustrated with the toggles.

“You designed it, don’t curse at it.” Steve looked amused.

“I had _input_ , you smart ass. Are you going to help or am I going to have to strip you myself?” Phil’s eyes glinted in the lamplight, and Steve gave a soft groan, his hand cupping the back of Phil’s neck as he pulled him in for another greedy kiss.

Phil’s fingers went to his tie, and he tugged it loose, slipping it off and dropping it, forgotten, to the floor. Steve’s hands were a flurry on Phil’s chest, backing the agent into the wall again as he pawed at the buttons. Phil heard a frustrated grunt, and then a rip as his buttons pattered to the carpet.

“My shirt – “ he started, but Steve’s mouth silenced him, pulling him into a heated, drugging kiss.

“I will buy you ten more if you’re naked in less than five minutes,” Steve said, the bark in his voice more Captain than he probably intended. Phil sure as hell didn’t mind, hands going to Steve’s belt and pulling at the clasps. It came free, and Phil shrugged out of his suit jacket, the remnants of his shirt fluttering loose to hang at his waist, the tails still tucked in his waistband.

Steve already had his belt undone, and Phil rucked up the blue undershirt to expose the long, solid lines of Steve’s chest and shoulders. He mouthed kisses against the sweat-slick expanse of Steve’s chest, nipping before he pulled back, wriggling his hips out of his pants and kicking off his shoes in the same motion, because Phil Coulson was nothing if not practical and efficient.

Steve ran his hands along Phil’s sides, thumbs hooking in the waistband of his boxers, and Phil stepped out when Steve took a knee, looking up at Phil with eyes dark from pupils blown wide. Steve pressed a kiss to the jut of Phil’s hip, his thumb resting on the other hip with practiced, possessive ease.

“Steve,” Phil said, and his voice throbbed, even as his soldier stood from where he was planted. Phil skinned him out of his pants, mouth hot and hard on Steve’s, until Steve was backed against the wall, just as amused by Phil’s sudden frenzy as he was. Still, he couldn’t ignore the way Steve rutted into his hip, his eyes half-lidded and his cock heavy in Phil’s hand as he gave Steve a lazy pump with the flick of his wrist.

“Bed?” Steve said, his tongue rolling over his lips; his voice was low and urgent, still needy as he mouthed at skin. Phil gave a soft moan and nodded, and then Steve lifted him, and they’d _talked_ about the manhandling, but Phil was too far gone to care at this point. Phil’s world tilted, and then he was on his back, Steve over him, and there was the press of hips against his.

He let out a low noise, one that he wouldn’t dignify by calling a whine, and Steve rolled down, the friction of their cocks together making Phil squirm. He arched his hips, returning the favor, and was rewarded with the low groan he loved and the start of the flush that rolled its way down Steve’s chest, highlighting the silver chain of the dog tags that hung around his neck.

Phil reached up, tugging the chain, and Steve followed, their lips crashing together again as Phil teased with short rolls of his hips, drawing a growl from Steve as he reached between them. Phil arched at the press of Steve’s hand, winding around them both for just a moment before Steve got hold of just Phil and pressed his hand along Phil’s length.

Oh, _god_. Phil arched against him, and Steve read it, he always did, and Steve pressed his hips down, _down_. Phil was lost in the rush, his breath hiccupping as he nipped against Steve’s collarbone, his lips grazing the chain of his tags.

He pressed against Steve’s chest, and Steve rolled, bringing himself to lay flat, Phil sprawled atop him.

He still smelled like smoke and gunpowder and death, Phil noted, but soon the scent of sex would wash all of that away. He looked down at Steve, long limbs rearranging to meet him, one large hand on his back, and he smiled, his hand lazy again as he cupped his soldier, his lips pressing down on the chain of Steve’s dog tags.

Steve shuddered, a soft noise coming from him. Phil glanced up, looking right into half-lidded blue eyes. Steve’s lower lip was between his teeth, watching Phil’s mouth press on the chain. Phil smiled against Steve’s skin, moving down the chain in little kisses of affection. Steve’s eyes went from bright to stormy, and Phil could feel the soldier’s cock pulse under his palm. He lifted the metal tag, deliberate in the kiss he placed to the raised letters of Steve’s name and rank.

Steve made a broken sound, and Phil found himself flipped, pinned. Steve reached for the slim bottle in the side table and coated his fingers with slick, pushing them against Phil, who moaned and rocked backward.

“F—Steve,” he grit out, the tags still in one hand as Steve circled him, slick fingers sliding in at last. It was hurried, but still careful, Steve pausing to brush Phil’s lips with his own. Phil arched back against him, and Steve moaned, his fingers working as he braced himself on one arm above Phil. They were smeared with dirt and grime, still filthy from the fight they’d just come home from, but Phil couldn’t care, worked open as he was by Steve.

“Phil,” Steve murmured, and he sounded wrecked, he’d wrecked the famously unflappable Steve Rogers. Phil arched back again with a sigh, and Steve pulled his fingers free with a groan, fumbling to get the packet open and on. Phil toyed with his dog tags, thumb running over the raised letters before Steve moved, tugging them from his hands, bracing on his elbows as his hips hit flush with Phil. He leaned back to guide himself in, and Phil groaned at the burn. There hadn’t been enough time, but right now the ache was counteracted by having Steve as close as possible.

Steve held still for just a moment, and Phil ran a thumb across his tags once more, their eyes meeting over the chain that dangled between them.

Steve rolled his hips and Phil shuddered, the motion enough to send his lower lip between his teeth. He raised his leg, hooking it around one slender hip and sending his heel digging into the curve of Steve’s ass as his soldier went from rolling his hips to short, shallow thrusts. The rock and motion helped, and Phil’s eyes narrowed to slits. Steve’s shoulders bunched with the motion, and Phil’s hand went there to feel the muscle flexing, lost in the sensation.

Steve balanced on one hand over Phil, calloused fingers tracing down his stomach to stroke across his cock, and Phil let out a low groan, scrabbling for a pillow to shove under his hips to get a better angle for them both. Steve helped him adjust, the rhythm slowing only a fraction, then the burn gave way to the slow friction of Steve’s cock, and Phil shuddered.

It wasn’t enough, but the hand on his dick helped, calloused fingers stroking up and around the sensitive tip, and he swore, the featherlight touches torture. Steve chuckled and the stroke came, firm and fast;  Phil’s head hit the pillow as he arched up against the rhythm of Steve’s hips.

Steve hit the right angle, the spot that sounded through him like the pealing of a bell, and Phil’s legs tightened, heels digging in as Steve struck it again and again, the thrusts coming short and staccato as Steve found his release.

“ ** _Jesus_** , Phil,” Steve grated out, his arms shuddering as the orgasm hit him, dog tags bobbing as he concentrated on riding it out.

Phil’s eyes closed as he felt Steve pulse against him and inside him, hips twitching as his soldier got where they were going. Steve leaned over Phil, panting, the sweat on his body slicking through the dirt before he reached down, his hand stroking in earnest.

It only took a little bit, the feel of Steve inside helping to ease him over the brink and Phil sucked in a breath as he spilled over Steve’s fingers, warmth coating his stomach as Steve’s name left his lips. Steve leaned over, kissing him hard as the last of it pulsed through his fingers. He leaned back, looking down at Phil, who was quite thoroughly debauched, messy and bruised, bitemarks rising on his neck and shoulders. Steve smiled as they both caught their breath, fingers trailing along one of them.

“If that’s what happens every time we fight a fire, I’m letting Johnny know that if he wants to fly through a building once and a while, it’s a-okay with me.”

The look Phil gave him was a work of art, a study in exasperation, and Steve laughed, slipping away to dispose of the condom. Phil dragged him into the shower, the warm water good on tired, sore muscles, the lips on wet skin good for the psyche. A new set of sheets on the bed, sated and clean, and Phil and Steve drowsed, sleeping through the rest of the now-quiet night.

Not a perfect night, but a good one, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Poison the Wellspring is making me sad. So I wrote porn to cheer myself up. Hope you enjoyed! Chapter two of Poison coming soon. I was just laid off so the job hunt is cutting into normal writng time.


End file.
